Dante sighed. There was little point in keeping secrets anymore. He explained how he’d located Mrs Emery’s ormolu clock, how the pawnbroker in Holborn had purchased another item from Babington—a neo-classical cameo brooch with an image of a mother cradling her child.
“My father gave my mother the brooch when I was born. To make murder look like highway robbery, the man who shot my mother ripped it off her gown and shoved it into his pocket. From my father, he stole a pocket watch, seal ring and a cheroot case painted with a unique hunting design.”
Miss Sands offered the plate of macaroons to the men. “Mr Babington stole both the brooch and the case from a Mr Benjamin Coulter who lives in Wilson Street, near Finsbury Square.”
“Coulter hangs with a set from the demi-monde.” Dante knew most scoundrels in the ton, but he did not know Coulter. The fact made him doubt Babington’s word. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”
“Coulter?” Daventry frowned and repeated the name a few times. “Damian Wycliff knows every rogue who dances on the fringes of respectable society. I shall make enquiries, discover what I can about Benjamin Coulter.”
Ashwood reached for a macaroon. “I suggest we gather here tomorrow afternoon to receive our instructions. In the meantime, I shall offer to assist Sir Malcolm. We should act quickly. Babington’s death must be connected to the reason he defrauded vulnerable widows, stole precious belongings. He might have lied about Coulter.”
“Cole will accompany you,” Daventry instructed. “Sloane will interview those who work at the goldsmith shop and see if anyone knows Babington.”
“And what shall I do, sir?” Miss Sands’ melodic voice breezed through the room. “Perhaps I could visit Mr Craddock’s home, make a list of his creditors, discover how Mr Babington came by the man’s vowels.”
Hell. The thought of her wandering the streets alone, probing into the louse’s affairs, sent a shiver to Dante’s toes.
“You have an assignment, Miss Sands.” Daventry glanced at Dante. “You’re to assist D’Angelo, ensure he behaves. Uncovering the truth will prove distressing. I trust you will be the voice of reason when he’s battling his demons.”
Damnation! He did not need coddling, but Daventry had a way of communicating silently, and it was clear he feared for Miss Sands’ safety, too.
“Then I have a request.” If he were to spend time with Miss Sands, he would do so without Miss Trimble’s interference. “It is impossible to conduct an investigation while Miss Sands is still in leading strings. Inform Miss Trimble that the lady is perfectly safe in my care, and there is no need for Bower to play chaperone.”
Daventry contemplated the request. “Miss Sands can decide if she requires Bower’s assistance. I’ll inform him and Miss Trimble of that fact. I take my responsibilities to Miss Sands seriously and hold you responsible should anything untoward happen.”
Dante inclined his head in agreement.
Ashwood pushed to his feet and tugged the cuffs of his coat. “If there’s nothing further, I shall call at Bow Street. See what use I can be to Sir Malcolm.”
They all stood.
“D’Angelo, sit with Miss Sands when you read through the notes.” Daventry spoke as if he’d read every traumatic line and could foresee how the night would end. “You may have questions, and she’s the only person who can provide answers.”
“While I agree wholeheartedly,” Miss Sands began, “Mr D’Angelo should be free to make his own choice.”
“It’s a suggestion, not an order.” The glimmer of compassion in Daventry’s eyes spoke of a man who had struggled with his own difficult past and knew the importance of finding inner peace. “Rest assured, we’ll catch this murdering rogue, but I warn you both, the truth is often different from the story we concoct in our minds.”
“Greed is often the primary motive for killing innocent people,” Miss Sands declared.
“Vengeance is another, Miss Sands, and you’ve made the classic mistake of presuming the victims are all innocent. Push personal feelings aside. Presume everyone in that carriage is guilty of wrongdoing.”
Dante suppressed a sigh. He would have to treat this case like any other, too. “Unlike the law courts, we work differently in the Order. When it comes to vengeance as a motive, we assume the victims are guilty of some transgression and seek ways to prove the theory.”
That said, the thought of a kind and caring woman like Daphne D’Angelo committing a sin was far beyond Dante’s comprehension.
Chapter 8
Nerves must be a familiar feeling for any woman awaiting Dante D’Angelo’s arrival. Never had Beatrice experienced such a mix of emotions when in the company of a gentleman. The pulses of desire, the need to make him smile, to beat the demons from his door, had nothing to do with his handsome features or muscular physique. All the men of the Order were prime specimens of masculinity, yet she felt nothing when she looked into their eyes.
But it wasn’t just the thought of being alone with Mr D’Angelo, alone in a candlelit room at night, that left her heart lodged in her throat. No. She feared how he would react when he read her father’s notes, read his mother’s statement where one could almost hear the ache in her voice as she made her heartbreaking confession.
A knock at the drawing room door made Beatrice jump.
Miss Trimble entered, her countenance carrying an air of disapproval which was only a mask to hide her deep concerns. “Mr D’Angelo has arrived. Shall I send him in?”
“If you would.” Butterflies fluttered in Beatrice’s chest, and he hadn’t entered the room. “It’s late. There’s no need to bring tea. The gentleman will take port while scrutinising the documents.”
Miss Trimble managed a weak smile. “You know to call if you need me.”